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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/barharborOOcrawrich 


Bar  Ha?^bor 


American 

Summer 

Resorts 


The    North     Shore.        By     Robert 
Grant. 
With  Illustrations  by  W,  T.  Smed- 
LEY. 

Newport.      By    W.    C.    Brovvnell. 
With    Illustrations    by  W.    S.    Van- 
DERBiLT  Allen. 

Bar  Harbor.     By  F.  Marion  Craw- 
ford. 
With    Illustrations   by    C.    S.    Rein- 
hart. 

Lenox.     By  George  A.  Hibbard. 

With  Illustrations  by    W.    S.    Van- 
derbilt  Allen. 

■5^„ "^  Each  i2mo.  Cloth.    Price,  75  cents 


i'\  A    i 


10- 


^^^^' 


Canoeing 


V 


AMERICAN  SUMMER    RESORTS 


BJR    HARBOR 

BT 

F.  MARION  CRAWFORD 

ILLUSTRATED  BT 

C.   S.    REINHART 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

NEJV  YORK  MDCCCA'Cri 


Cofy right,  /Sg4,  iSgd,  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S   SONS 


\  ^> 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIOXS 


Page 

Canoeing           .... 

Frontispiece 

The  Landing  Stage 

7 

On  the  Corniche  Road 

•    13 

A  Yachting  Party     . 

.    /p 

Chmhing  Newport  Alountain 

•    ^7 

A  Buckhoard  Party 

•    35 

Anemone  Cave 

•    43 

Cottage  Life — A  Luncheon  Party 

•    47 

Eagle  Lake     .... 

•    jf 

''Landed''      .... 

•    37 

iv.je79890 


o*^ 


THE  first  impression  made  by  Bar 
Harbor  at  the  height  of  its  season 
upon  the  mind  of  one  fresh  from  a  more 
staid  and  crystaUized  civihzation  is  that  it 
is  passing  through  a  period  of  transition, 
in  which  there  is  some  of  the  awkward- 
ness which  we  associate  with  rapid  growth, 
and  something   also  of  the  youthful  fresh- 


B^r  ness  which  gives  that  very  awkwardness 
a  charm.  The  name  of  Mount  Desert 
suggests,  perhaps,  a  grim  and  forbidding 
chfF,  frowning  upon  the  pale  waves  of  a 
melancholy  ocean.  Instead,  the  traveller 
who  crosses  the  bay  in  the  level  light  of  an 
August  afternoon  looks  upon  the  soft, 
rolling  outline  of  wooded  hills,  on  the 
highest  of  which  a  little  hotel  breaks  the 
sky-line,  upon  a  shore  along  which  villas 
and  cottages  stretch  on  either  side  of  a 
toy  wooden  village,  which  looks  as  though 
it  were  to  be  put  away  in  a  box  at  night, 
and  upon  the  surrounding  sea,  an  almost 
land-locked  inlet,  in  which  other  islands, 
like  satellites  of  Mount  Desert,  are  scat- 
tered here  and  there. 

As  the  little  steamer  draws  up  to  her 
moorings  the  groups  of  people  waiting 
on  the  pier  stand  out  distinctly,  and  the 
usual  types  detach  themselves  one  by  one. 
The  clusters  of  hotel-runners  and  express- 
men are  lounging  listlessly  until  they  shall 
be  roused  to  clamorous  activity  by  the 
landing  of  the   first    passenger  ;  in   knots 


aiul  j^airs,  those  sercncK"  idle  people  of  all  ^^^ 
ages,  who,  in  all  places  and  seasons,  seem 
to  find  an  ev^er-new  amusement  in  watch- 
ing the  arrival  of  trains  or  boats,  are  as 
deeply  interested  as  usual  ;  the  inevitable 
big  and  solemn  dog,  of  nondescript  breed 
and  eclectic  affections,  is  stalking  about 
with  an  air  of  responsibility. 

And  yet  the  little  crowd  is  not  quite 
like  other  gatherings  on  other  piers.  Girls 
in  smart  cotton  trocks  are  sitting  in  shin- 
ing Httle  village  carts,  with  grooms  at 
their  horses'  sleek  heads,  wedged  in  be- 
tween empty  buck-boards  that  look  like 
paralyzed  centipedes,  the  drivers  of  which 
wear  clothes  ranging  from  the  livery  of 
the  large  stables  to  the  weather-bleached 
coat  of  the  "  native"  from  Cherryfield  or 
Ellsworth,  who  has  brought  over  his  horse 
to  take  his  share  of  the  "  rusticator's " 
ready  money  during  the  short  season. 
There  are  no  hotel  omnibuses,  no  covered 
traps  of  any  kind,  as  becomes  a  holiday 
place  where  winter  and  roui^h  weather  are 
enemies   not   meant   to  be  reckoned  with  ; 


Harb 


B'if  everybody  seems  either  to  know  every- 
one else,  or  not  to  care  if  he  does  not,  and 
there  is  an  air  of  cheerful  informality  about 
the  whole  scene  which  immediately  makes 
one  feel  welcome  and  at  home. 

In  order  not  to  be  behind  every  self- 
respecting  town  throughout  the  Western 
world  Bar  Harbor  has  a  Main  Street, 
which  plunges  violently  down  a  steep  place 
toward  the  pier,  and  which  is  beautified 
for  a  short  distance  by  a  mushroom  growth 
of  tents  and  shanties,  the  summer  home 
of  the  almond-eyed  laundryman,  the  itin- 
erant photographer  with  a  specialty  of 
tintypes,  and  the  seller  of  weary-looking 
fruit,  of  sandwiches  that  have  seen  better 
days,  and  temperance  drinks  of  gorgeous 
hues.  Plymouth  Rock  also  vaunts  its 
"  pants,"  and  young  ladies  are  recom- 
mended to  grow  up  with  Castoria. 

Then  come  the  more  necessary  shops — 
the  tinsmith's,  at  whose  door  a  large  bull- 
terrier  benevolently  grins  all  day  ;  the 
tailor's,  where  one  may  study  the  fashions 
of   New   York   filtered   through   Bangor ; 

4 


the  china  shop,  where  bright-colored  himp- 
shades  spread  themselves  like  great  butter- 
flies in  the  window,  and  the  establishment 
of  Mr.  Bee,  the  locally  famous  and  indis- 
pensable provider  of  summer  literature, 
and  of  appropriate  alleviations  for  the 
same,  in  the  shape  of  caramels,  cigarettes, 
and  chewing-gum.  Directly  opposite 
stands  a  huge  hotel,  apparently  closed  or 
almost  deserted,  but  evidently  built  in  the 
years  when  the  gnawing  tooth  of  the  na- 
tional jig-saw  grievously  tormented  all  man- 
ner of  wood-work,  a  melancholy  relic  of  an 
earlier  time  when,  as  "  Rodick's,"  it  was 
almost  another  name  for  Bar  Harbor  itself. 
No  lover  of  Bar  Harbor  has  been  found 
bold  enough  to  say  that  Main  Street  is 
pretty  ;  and  yet,  between  ten  and  twelve 
o'clock  on  a  summer's  morning,  it  has 
a  character,  if  not  a  beauty,  of  its  own. 
Alongside  of  the  "board  walk,"  which  takes 
the  place  of  a  pavement,  the  buckboards 
are  drawn  up,  waiting  to  be  hired  ;  in  some 
of  them,  often  drawn  by  four  horses,  are 
parties  of  people,  consisting;  usually  ot  more 


Bur 
Hjrbo 


Harbor 


Ba'-  women  than  men,  as  is  becoming  in  New 
England,  already  starting  upon  one  of  the 
longer  expeditions,  and  only  stopping  to 
collect  a  stray  member  or  to  lay  in  a  stock 
of  fruit  and  sugar-plumbs.  Farmers'  carts, 
with  closed  hoods  like  Shaker  sunbonnets, 
are  on  their  rounds  from  one  cottage  to 
another,  meandering  through  the  crowd, 
and  driven  with  exasperating  calmness  by 
people  who  sit  far  back  in  their  little  tun- 
nels, and  cannot  possibly  see  on  either  side 
of  them  to  get  out  of  anyone  else's  way. 
Then  there  are  all  sorts  of  light  private 
traps,  usually  driven  by  women  or  girls 
bound  on  household  errands  or  visits,  and 
psychologically  unbalanced  between  their 
desire  to  speak  to  the  friends  who  meet 
them  on  foot,  and  their  anxiety  lest  they 
should  be  forced  to  recognize  the  particu- 
lar acquaintance  on  whom  they  are  just 
going  to  call. 

Along  the  board  walk  there  is  a  row  of 

little  shops,  some  of  them  scarcely  larger 

than    booths,    the    proprietors     of   which 

perch  like  birds  of  passage,  pluming  them- 

6 


The 

Landing 

Stage 


-I'  ~'^.   _ 


'C.' 


m. 


selves  in  the  sunshine  of  the  brief  season,  J^^' 
and  taking  flight  again  before  the  autumn 
gales.  In  one  window  a  lot  of  Turkish 
finery  looks  curiously  exotic,  especially 
the  little  slippers,  gay  with  tassels  and 
embroidery,  turning  up  their  pointed  toes 
as  if  scorning  the  stouter  footgear  which 
tramps  along  outside.  Another  shop  is 
bright  with  the  crude  colors  of  Spanish 
scarfs  and  pottery  ;  in  another,  Japanese 
wares  manage  to  keep  their  faint  smell  of 
the  East  in  spite  of  the  salt  northern  air, 
and  farther  on  you  may  wonder  at  the 
misplaced  ingenuity  of  Florida  shell  jew- 
elry, and  be  fascinated  by  the  rakish  leer 
of  the  varnished  alligator. 

By  one  of  the  contrasts  which  make 
Bar  Harbor  peculiarly  attractive,  next 
door  to  these  cosmopolitan  shops  there 
still  thrives  one  of  the  indigenous  general 
stores,  where  salt  fish  are  sold,  and  house- 
hold furniture  and  crockery,  and  the  candy 
peculiar  to  New  England  stores  and  New 
York  peanut  stands,  which  keeps  through 
all  vicissitudes  a  vague  odor  of  sawdust, 
9 


Harbor 


Harbor 


Bar  and  where  you  may  also  buy,  as  was  once 
advertised  by  the  ingenuous  dealer,  "baby 
carriages,  butter,  and  paint." 

Should  you  wish  to  give  a  message  to  a 
friend  without  the  trouble  of  writing  a 
note,  the  chances  are  more  than  even  that 
you  will  find  him  or  her  any  morning  on 
the  board-walk,  or  in  the  neighborhood  of 
the  post-office,  for  as  there  is  no  delivery 
at  Bar  Harbor,  and  as  the  mails  are  often 
delayed,  there  is  ample  opportunity  to 
search  for  an  acquaintance  in  the  waiting 
crowd.  Here  also  congregate  the  grooms 
in  undress  livery,  with  leather  mail-bags 
slung  under  one  arm,  who  have  ridden  in 
from  the  outlying  cottages,  and  who  walk 
their  horses  up  and  down,  or  exchange 
stable  notes  with  their  acquaintances ;  sail- 
ors from  private  yachts,  usually  big,  fair 
Scandinavians ;  mail  orderlies  from  any 
men-of-war  which  may  happen  to  be  in 
port ;  boys  and  girls  who  do  not  find  the 
waiting  long,  and  all  that  mysterious  tribe 
of  people  who  look  as  if  they  could  not 
possibly  receive  a  dozen  letters  a  year,  and 


lO 


yet  who  arc  always  assiduously  looking 
out  for  them.  As  usual,  the  post-office  is 
a  loadstone  for  all  the  dogs  in  the  village, 
and  as  there  are  many  strangers  among 
them,  of  all  breeds  and  ages  and  tempers, 
walking  round  and  round  one  another  with 
stiff  legs  and  bristling  backs,  unregenerate 
man  is  kept  in  tremulous  expectation  of  a 
dog-fight  as  free  as  any  in  Stamboul.  But 
somehow  the  fight  rarely  comes  off,  though 
the  resident  canine  population  has  become 
fearfully  and  wonderfully  mixed,  through 
the  outsiders  who  have  loved  and  ridden 
away.  One  nondescript,  especially,  is  not 
soon  forgotten,  a  nightmare  cross  of  a 
creature  in  which  the  curly  locks  and 
feathery  tail  of  the  spaniel  are  violently 
modified  by  the  characteristic  pointed 
breastbone  and  bandy  legs  of  a  dachs- 
hund. 

Wandering  through  the  streets  of  the 
little  village  one  is  struck  again  and  again 
by  the  sharp  contrast  between  what  may 
be  called  the  natural  life  of  the  place  and 
the  artificial   condition  which   fashion   has 


Bar 
Harhc 


B^"-  imposed  upon  it.  In  some  of  the  streets 
almost  every  house  is  evidently  meant  to 
be  rented,  the  owners  usually  retiring  to 
restricted  quarters  at  the  back,  where  they 
stow  themselves  away  and  hang  themselves 
up  on  pegs  until  they  may  come  into  their 
own  again.  Here  and  there  a  native  cot- 
tage has  been  bought  and  altered  by  a 
summer  resident,  and  over  the  whole  there 
is  the  peculiarly  smug  expression  of  a 
quarter  which  is  accustomed  to  put  its  best 
foot  foremost  for  a  few  months  of  the 
year.  But  in  the  back  lanes  and  side- 
streets  there  are  still  the  conditions  of  the 
small  New  England  community,  in  which 
land  is  poor  and  work  is  slack  during  the 
long  winter,  so  that  although  there  is  no 
abject  poverty  in  the  sense  in  which  it  is 
known  to  cities,  there  is  also  little  time  or 
inclination  for  the  mere  prettiness  of  life. 

An  element  of  the  picturesque  is  sup- 
plied by  an  Indian  camp,  which  used  for 
years  to  be  pitched  in  a  marshy  field 
known  as  Squaw  Hollow ;  but  with  the 
advent  of  a  Village  Improvement  Society 


On  the 

Corniche 

Road 


>hM-^ 


certain  ncwfanu^lcd  and  disturhinir  ideas  as    Bar 

, .     •  1-11  •  Ucirhor 

to  sanitary  conditions  obtained  a  nearinir, 
and  the  Indians  were  banished  to  a  back 
road  out  of  the  way  of  sensitive  eyes  and 
noses.  Thev  claim  to  be  of  the  Passama- 
quoddy  tribe,  speak  their  own  language, 
and  follow  the  peaceful  trades  of  basket- 
weaving  and  moccasin-making,  and  the 
building  of  birch-bark  canoes.  Their  lit- 
tle dwellings — some  of  them  tents,  some 
of  them  shanties  covered  with  tar-paper 
and  strips  of  bark — are  scattered  about, 
and  in  the  shadow  of  one  of  them  sits  a 
lady  of  enormous  girth,  who  calls  herself 
their  queen,  and  who  wears,  perhaps  as  a 
badge  of  sovereignty,  a  huge  fur  cap  even 
in  the  hottest  weather.  She  is  not  less 
industrious  than  other  "regular  royal" 
queens,  for  she  sells  baskets  and  tells  for- 
tunes even  more  flattering  than  the  fabled 
tale  of  Hope.  Some  of  the  young  men 
are  fine,  swarthv,  taciturn  creatures,  who 
look  as  though  thev  knew  how  to  put  a 
knife  to  other  uses  than  whittling  the 
frame  of  a  canoe  ;  but  one  does  not  feel 
15 


Ba^  tempted  to  rush  upon  Fate  for  the  sake 
of  any  of  the  dumpy  and  greasy-looking 
damsels  who  will  soon  become  like  their 
even  dumpier  and  greasier  mothers. 

The  whole  encampment  is  pungent  with 
the  acrid  smoke  of  green  wood,  and  many 
children — round,  good-natured  balls  of  fat 
in  all  shades  of  yellow  and  brown — roll 
about  in  close  friendship  with  queer  little 
dogs,  in  which  the  absence  of  breed  pro- 
duces a  family  likeness.  It  is  curious  to 
see  in  the  characteristic  work  of  these  peo- 
ple the  survival  of  the  instinctive  taste  of 
semi-savage  races,  and  the  total  lack  of  it  in 
everything  else.  The  designs  cut  on  the 
bark  of  their  canoes,  the  cunningly  blended 
colors  in  their  basket-work,  are  thoroughly 
good  in  their  way ;  but  contact  with  a 
higher  civilization  seems  to  have  affected 
them  as  it  has  the  Japanese,  turning  their 
attention  chiefly  to  making  napkin-rings 
and  collar-boxes,  and  to  a  hideous  delight 
in  tawdry  finery,  which  is  fondly,  though 
distantly,  modelled  on  current  American 
fashions. 

i6 


Bar  Harbor  drinks  the   cup  of  summer    Ba 


standing.  In  mid-April  the  snow  may  lie 
six  feet  deep,  and  before  the  end  of  Octo- 
ber long  icicles  are  often  hanging  on  the 
north  side  of  the  rocks,  while  even  in 
August  the  northern  lights  shoot  up  their 
quivering,  spectral  spears  from  the  hori- 
zon to  the  zenith.  Some  fierce  days  of 
heat  there  are  in  July,  but  on  the  whole 
the  temperature  is  decidedly  arctic,  especi- 
ally to  one  accustomed  to  a  less  rigorous 
climate.  In  New  York  we  are  used  to 
having  the  kindly  fruits  of  the  earth 
brought  to  us  long  before  their  natural 
season,  and  it  sounds  strangely  to  be  told 
at  Bar  Harbor  that  the  first  garden  straw- 
berries may  be  looked  for  about  the  fourth 
of  July,  and  that  June  lilies  will  bloom 
early  in  August;  but  such  trifles  only  give 
one  a  feeling  of  chasing  the  summer,  as 
climate-fanciers  follow  the  spring,  and  are 
certainly  not  to  be  reckoned  as  grievances. 
The  people  who  have  a  certain  very 
slight  right  to  complain  are  the  artists, 
who,    haviner    heard    of    the    beauties     of 


Harbor 


17 


B'^r  Mount.  Desert,  come  prepared  to  carry 
away  at  least  a  reminder  of  them  on  can- 
vas or  paper.  They  find  that  they  have 
fallen  upon  a  spot  almost  entirely  deficient 
in  what  painters  term  "  atmosphere,"  and 
of  which  the  characteristic  effects  almost 
defy  reproduction.  In  what  is  known  as 
a  "  real  Bar  Harbor  day"  the  air  is  so  thin 
and  clear  that  there  seem  to  be  no  distant 
effects,  and  objects  lose  their  relative  val- 
ues. The  sea  is  of  a  darker  blue  than  the 
sky,  and  the  rocks  are  very  red  or  very 
gray,  and  the  birches  are  of  a  brighter 
green  than  the  firs,  which  stand  out  against 
the  sky  with  edges  as  sharp  as  those  of  the 
tightly  curled  trees  on  wooden  stands  in 
the  toy  Swiss  farm-yards  dear  to  our  youth. 
But  that  is  all.  Even  the  clouds  seem  to 
abjure  mystery  and  take  definite  outlines  ; 
the  water  is  spangled  with  shining  points 
where  the  light  breeze  ruffles  it,  and  one 
can  see  every  patch  on  the  sail  of  the  old 
fishing-schooner  making  her  leisurely  way 
to  her  anchorage.  Any  attempt  at  a  faith- 
ful  rendering  of  such  dry  brilliancy  is  apt 

i8 


t 


to  have  a  fatal  likeness  to  a  chromo-litho-    B'"' 
graph,  and  the  artist  usually  ends  by  leav- 
ing   his    paint-box    at    home,   and    giving 
himself  up  to  enjoyment  of  the   keen   air 
that  tingles  through  his  veins  like  wine. 

The  truthful  chronicler  is  forced  to  ad- 
mit that  the  climate  of  Bar  Harbor  has 
two  drawbacks — high  wind  and  fog,  one 
usually  following  the  other.  Out  of  a  clear 
sky,  without  a  cloud,  while  the  sun  grins 
away  derisively  overhead,  a  southwest  gale 
will  often  blow  a  whole  day,  filling  the  vil- 
lage streets  with  stinging  dust  and  the 
whirling  disks  of  vagrant  hats,  and  making 
the  little  fleet  of  catboats  and  launches  in 
the  harbor  duck  and  strain  at  their  moor- 
ings ;  turning  venturesome  girls  who  try 
to  walk  into  struggling  pillars  of  strangely 
twisted  drapery,  and  even  in  the  heart  of 
the  warm  woods  tearing  at  the  crowded 
trees  so  that  they  sigh  and  creek  as  they 
rub  their  weary  old  limbs  against  one  an- 
other. The  second  day  is  gray  and  cloudy, 
on  the  third  it  rains,  but  sdll  the  wind 
blows,  a    nervous    wind    that    makes    one 


^ar  long  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  one's  best 
friend.  And  then  the  wind  drops  as  sud- 
denly as  it  rose,  and  the  next  day  all  dis- 
comfort, past  and  to  come,  is  forgotten  for 
awhile  in  sheer  delight  of  beauty.  For  the 
air  is  still,  and  the  sun  shines  gently  on  a 
dull  green  sea  over  which  little  shivers  run 
now  and  then,  and  far  in  the  offing  there 
is  the  gray  line  of  a  fog-bank.  Slowly  it 
comes  in  with  the  southeast  wind,  stealing 
along  the  surface  of  the  water,  now  closing 
softly  round  an  island,  then  rising  from  it 
like  a  wreath  of  smoke,  here  piled  into  a 
fleecy  mass,  there  turned  to  silver  and  scat- 
tered by  a  sunbeam,  but  coming  on  and 
on,  and  creeping  up  and  up,  until  the  trees 
on  the  Porcupines  have  their  feet  in  the 
clouds  like  Wagnerian  heroes  ;  and  pres- 
ently they  also  are  hidden,  and  the  whole 
harbor  is  swathed  in  a  soft  cloud,  from  the 
depths  of  which  come  now  and  then  the 
muffled,  anxious  whistles  of  the  little  steam- 
ers which  ply  about  the  bay — the  Silver 
Star,  from  Winter  Harbor;  the  Cimbria, 
from  Bangor ;  and  louder  and  deeper,  the 


hoarse    note    of   the    Sappho   as   she  feels    ^'^ 
her   way  across  with   passengers  troni   the 
ferry. 

When  the  oldest  hihabitant  is  asked 
how  lonn  a  foo^  may  last  he  will  shake  his 
head,  shift  his  quid,  and  decHne  to  commit 
himself.  There  is  a  legend  of  a  young 
man  who  came  in  on  a  yacht  some  years 
ago,  duly  prepared  to  enjoy  himself  and 
admire  the  scenery.  His  skipper  groped 
his  way  to  an  anchorage  in  a  mist  so  dense 
that  he  could  not  see  fifty  feet  ahead  or 
astern  ;  the  luckless  young  man  went  about 
for  nine  mortal  days,  swathed  in  a  soft, 
smothering  blanket ;  on  the  tenth  day  he 
sailed  away,  still  in  a  thick  fog,  and  swear- 
In  mighty  oaths.  Even  when  the  fog  lies 
over  the  bay  the  air  may  be  quite  clear  in- 
land, and  after  a  drive  among  the  hills  it  is 
a  curious  sensation  to  come  back  to  the 
shore.  In  the  wooded  uplands  all  is 
sunny  and  cheerful,  but  when  the  village 
is  reached  a  cold  breath  is  stealing  through 
it  as  though  the  door  of  an  ice-house  had 
been   left   open,  and   on    turning   down    a 


^^''       side-street  toward  the  sea  a  gray   wall   of 
mist  blots  out  trees  and  shore  alike. 

To  anyone  not  familiar  with  it,  catboat 
sailing  in  a  thick  fog  does  not  suggest  itself 
as  an  amusement.  It  has  a  strong  attrac- 
tion of  its  own,  however,  for  the  breeze  is 
usually  steady,  and  the  entire  obliteration 
of  the  familiar  landmarks  gives  an  element 
of  uncertainty  and  adventure.  The  course 
must  be  steered  by  the  compass,  and  it  is 
necessary  to  have  accurate  notes  of  the 
local  bearings.  If  the  harbor  is  at  all 
crowded  the  little  boat  feels  her  way  out 
slowly,  close-hauled,  as  carefully  as  though 
she  were  alive  ;  but  once  in  the  freer  water 
the  sheet  is  started,  and  she  slips  forward 
into  infinite  mystery.  Every  sense  is 
strained  to  take  the  place  of  sight,  which 
is  baffled  and  almost  useless  in  the  thickly 
pressing  veil  that  now  and  then  grows 
thinner  for  a  moment,  only  to  close  in 
again  more  densely.  The  sharp  lapping  of 
the  water  against  the  sides  of  the  boat,  the 
wash  of  the  rising  tide  upon  some  island, 
the  shrill  scream  of  a  gull  overhead,  the 
24 


whistle  of  a  launch  astern  in  the  harbor —  B'"' 
all  these  make  to  themselves  echoes,  and 
by  and  by  the  far-off  beat  of  a  side-wheel 
steamer  throbs  with  a  great  palpitation  in 
the  stillness.  Boats  which  ply  for  profit 
or  sail  for  pleasure  are  apt  to  make  noise 
enough  in  a  fog ;  but  the  fishermen  giv^e 
themselves  less  trouble,  and  slipping  along, 
ghost-like,  one  mav  be  suddenly  aware  of 
a  larger  and  darker  phantom  ahead,  to 
which  it  is  wise  to  give  a  respectfully  wide 
birth,  without  insisting  too  much  upon  the 
privileges  of  the  starboard  tack  and  the 
possible  right  of  way,  when  the  water  is 
over-cold  for  much  swimming.  There 
does  not  seem  to  be  any  particular  reason 
for  ever  turning  back,  when  one  is  not 
bound  for  any  visible  point,  and  you  may 
dream  your  dream  out  before  you  come 
about  and  run  free  for  the  harbor  again. 
The  fog  is,  it  anything,  thicker  than  when 
you  started,  and  it  is  no  easy  matter  to 
find  your  berth  ;  but  the  boat  seems  to 
"  kinder  smell  her  way,"  as  an  old  sailor 
once  remarked  in  a  like  case,  and  at  last 


^^''        she    bumps    gently    against    her   mooring- 

Harbor      ■, 

buoy. 

The  most  beautiful  effects  of  fog  at  Bar 
Harbor  are  to  be  seen  from  Newport 
Mountain,  which  is  about  a  thousand  feet 
high,  and  is  a  mile  or  two  out  of  the 
village.  At  first  the  path  leads  upward 
among  thick  woods,  through  which  the 
sunlight  falls  in  yellow  patches,  and  where 
the  squirrels  chatter  angrily  from  the 
spruce  boughs.  This  part  of  the  way  is 
very  pretty,  though  it  is  apt  to  be  warm, 
and  in  early  summer  the  black  flies  make 
succulent  meals  on  the  nape  of  the  pil- 
grim's neck.  A  little  farther  on,  the  path 
leads  out  over  broad  open  stretches  of 
granite  rock,  scratched  and  furrowed  by 
a  primeval  glacier,  with  scrubby  tufts  of 
mountain  laurel  growing  in  the  stony  hol- 
lows, and  blueberry  bushes  holding  on  for 
dear  life  everywhere.  Oddly  enough,  it 
is  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  lose  the 
path,  although  it  has  been  considerately 
marked  with  a  line  of  small  cairns,  which, 
however,    are    set    at     varying    distances 

a6 


Climbing 

Neivpon 
Mountain 


>4" 


apart,  often  as  far  as  a  couple  of  hundred  Bar 
feet  each  from  the  next,  and  are  built  up 
of  fragments  of  the  rock  itself,  so  that  they 
are  hard  to  distinguish  in  a  failing  light. 
To  miss  the  path  means  wandering  aim- 
lessly over  the  slippery  rock-slopes,  or 
striking  down  the  hill-side  through  the 
almost  impenetrable  underbrush,  with  the 
further  penalty,  especially  if  one  happen 
to  have  a  companion  of  the  other  sex,  of 
being  unmercifully  jeered  at;  for  to  have 
lost  one's  way  on  Newport  Mountain  is 
as  well-worn  an  excuse  at  Bar  Harbor  as 
it  is,  in  town,  to  say  that  one's  cab  did  not 
come. 

Once  fairly  at  the  top,  and  having  con- 
scientiously looked  at  the  view  all  round, 
there  is  no  lack  of  sheltered  corners  tor 
smoke  and  contemplation.  On  the  one 
hand  the  open  sea  stretches  out,  a  sheet  of 
gray  steel,  with  great  patches  of  speckled 
froth  and  foam  here  and  there,  near  the 
shore,  like  white  leopard  skins,  flung  off 
by  the  grim  puritan  rocks  that  will  have 
none  of  such  heathenish  adorning.  On 
29 


Bar  the  Other  hand  the  mainland  stretches  its 
cruel,  jagged  line  beyond  Schoodie,  and 
the  lighthouse  on  Egg  Rock  stands  up 
straight  as  a  sentinel  to  guard  the  bay. 
Two  or  three  big  men-of-war  lying  in  the 
harbor  might  be  taken  for  neat  models, 
of  themselves,  and  the  little  craft  moving 
about  them  are  like  water-beetles,  or  flit- 
ting white  moths.  But  the  sea  has  changed 
suddenly,  and  it  shivers  all  over  as  though 
the  cold  water  could  feel  yet  colder,  and 
all  at  once  the  fog-bank  that  has  been 
lying  so  innocently  outside  begins  to  un- 
fold itself  and  steal  forward  over  the  sur- 
face. There  does  not  seem  to  be  much 
air  above,  and  the  trees  on  the  Porcupines 
are  still  free.  But  on  the  right  all  is  very 
different.  Through  the  deep  gorge  or 
cleft  between  Newport  and  Dry  Mountain, 
into  which  the  sun  has  been  beating  all 
day,  the  chilly  fog-wind  now  draws  hard, 
and  the  fleecy  cloud  pours  after  it.  Noth- 
ing, perhaps,  could  be  less  like  the  stern 
side  of  Dry  Mountain  than  the  gracious 
sweep    of   Mount    Ida,    and   yet,   as   one 

3° 


looks,  the  lines  of  Tennyson's  "  CEnone  "    ^'' 
rise  to  the  memory  : 

"The  swimming  vapor  slopes  athwart  the  glen, 
Puts  forth  an  arm,  and  creeps  from   pine  to  pine, 
And  loiters,  slowly  drawn." 

But  you  will  do  well  not  to  loiter  too  long 
yourself,  for  gray  cairns  are  ill  to  find  in  a 
gray  mist,  and  you  had  better  gain  the 
woods  by  the  time  the  top  of  Newport  is 
swathed  in  cloud  as  though  it  were  a  real 
grown-up  mountain. 

Mount  Desert  is  lucky  in  its  proper 
names  of  places,  having  been  discovered  as 
a  summer  resort  late  enough  to  escape  the 
semi-classical  namings  of  "  Baths "  and 
"  Mirrors  "  and  "  Bowers,  "  which  have 
sentimentalized  the  rocks  and  pools  of  the 
White  Mountains.  A  few  French  words 
still  linger  as  a  reminder  of  the  time  when 
Louis  XIV.  gave  the  original  grant  to  the 
Sieur  de  la  Motte  Cadillac  ;  but  most  of 
them,  like  Hull's  Cove  and  Town  Hill, 
have  an  honest  colonial  American  ring, 
while  about  Pretty  Marsh  Harbor  there  is 
a  certain  echo  of  romance,  and  "Junk  o' 


Harbor 


Bar  Pork  "  and  "  Rum  Key,"  two  little  islands, 
or  rather  rocks,  in  the  bay,  have  a  very 
nautical,  and  even  piratical,  suggestive- 
ness. 

At  the  first  glance  the  island,  on  a  map, 
reminds  one  somewhat  of  the  dejected 
lamb  which  hangs  by  his  middle  in  the 
order  of  the  Golden  Fleece.  The  deep 
indentation  is  Somes's  Sound,  running  far 
inland,  with  Somesville  at  its  head,  a  quiet 
New  England  village,  with  a  white  meet- 
ing-house, and  many  other  houses,  most 
of  them  also  white,  and  standing  among 
gnarled  apple-trees,  in  a  gentle,  dozing 
tranquillity  from  which  the  place  is  roused 
when  parties  drive  over  from  Bar  Harbor 
to  eat  broiled  chickens  and  "  pop-overs  "  at 
the  local  hotel,  and  to  drive  back  by  moon- 
light— expeditions  which  are  considered  to 
have  sufficient  local  color  to  entitle  them 
to  notice,  without  omission  of  the  pop- 
overs,  in  Baedeker's  recent  "  Guide  to  the 
United  States." 

In  the  neighborhood  of  Somesville   the 
characteristics  of  the  native  population  are 
32 


mich  more  ?ioticeahle  than  at  Bar  Harbor,    ^^'- 

1  •     1  • 1  1  •  liar  bo 

only  eight  miles  away,  where  a  watering- 
place  has  been  grafted  on  a  fishing  village. 
At  some  time  or  other  in  his  life  almost 
every  islander  seems  to  have  followed  the 
sea  ;  the  man  who  drives  your  buckboard 
may  have  been  more  than  once  to  China, 
and  it  is  extremely  likely  that  the  farmer 
who  brings  you  your  green  peas  has  been 
tossed  for  manv  a  week  of  hours  in  a  crazy 
dory  off  the  deadly  Banks,  which  cost  us 
everv  year  so  many  lives.  In  nearly  every 
home  there  is  some  keepsake  from  far 
away  lands,  some  tribute  from  arctic  or 
tropic  seas,  and  when  at  last  an  old  captain 
makes  up  his  mind  to  stay  ashore  it  is  cer- 
tain that  there  will  be  something  about  his 
house  to  show  his  former  calling — a  pair  of 
huge  whale-ribs  on  either  side  of  the  front 
door,  flowers  growing  in  shells  that  have 
held  the  murmur  of  the  Indian  Ocean,  and, 
instead  of  a  cock  or  banner,  a  model  of 
some  sort  of  boat  perched  on  the  barn  for 
a  weather-vane.  That  a  sailor-man  is  a 
handy  man  is  true  the  world  over,  but  the 

33 


Bar  Maine  man  seems  to  have  an  especial 
Harbor  j^j^^^,]^  ^j^|^  wood,  froHi  the  lumber-camp 
to  the  cabinetmaker's  bench,  and  many  a 
carpenter  working  by  the  day  will  turn  out 
a  well-finished  sideboard  or  an  odd  piece 
of  artistic  furniture  from  the  roughest  sort 
of  pencil  sketch.  They  are  good  smiths, 
too,  and  the  best  of  their  wrought-iron 
recalls  the  breadth  and  freedom  of  the  early 
German  and  Italian  work. 

Society  at  Bar  Harbor  does  not  now 
differ  in  any  particularly  salient  manner 
from  good  society  anywhere  else,  except 
that  it  is  rather  more  cosmopolitan.  When 
the  guests  at  a  small  dinner  or  luncheon 
may  have  come  from  New  York,  Phila- 
delphia, Boston,  Washington,  and  Chicago, 
it  is  impossible  that  the  conversation  should 
fall  into  that  jargon  of  a  clique  which  often 
makes  the  talk  of  the  most  centralized  so- 
ciety, like  that  of  Paris  or  London,  seem 
narrow  and  provincial  to  the  unfortunate 
outsider. 

One  amusing  survival  of  the  simpler 
early  days  is  the  habit  of  going  out  in  the 

34 


A 

Backboard 
Party 


evening  in  uncox'ered  traps.  There  are  a  ^'"' 
few  private  broughams,  but  it  you  are  din- 
ing out,  and  happen  to  reach  the  house  as 
a  lady  drives  up,  the  chances  are  that  you 
will  help  her  to  alight  from  an  open  buck- 
board,  her  smart  French  frock  shrouded 
in  a  long  cloak,  and  her  head  more  or  less 
muffled  and  protected.  One  or  two  of  the 
livery-stables  have  hacks  which  must  have 
been  very  old  when  they  were  brought 
from  Bangor,  and  which  now  hold  together 
almost  by  a  miracle.  A  year  or  two  ago 
one  of  them  could  never  be  sent  out  with- 
out two  men  on  the  box,  not  indeed  tor 
the  sake  of  lending  the  turnout  any  ficti- 
tious splendor,  but  because  one  of  them 
had  to  "  mind  the  door,"  which  was 
broken,  and  could  neither  be  shut  nor 
opened  by  any  one  inside.  If  two  or 
three  entertainments  take  place  on  the 
same  night  there  is  telephoning  loud  and 
long  for  these  antediluvian  vehicles,  as  the 
only  other  alternative  is  to  take  a  sort  ot 
carry-all  with  leather  side-curtains  which 
have  a  treacherous  way  of  blowing  open 


Bar       and  dropping  small  waterspouts  down  the 

Harbor     i         i  r  »  i 

back  or  one  s  neck. 

It  would  be  out  of  place  for  a  mere 
visitor  to  launch  into  predictions  regarding 
the  social  future  of  Bar  Harbor.  But  one 
thing  at  least  seems  certain — it  can  never 
be  in  any  sense  a  rival  to  Newport.  The 
conditions  which  make  the  summer  life  of 
the  latter  more  brilliant  than  that  of  any 
other  watering-place  in  the  world,  mark  it 
also  as  the  playground  of  a  great  commer- 
cial metropolis,  and  a  large  proportion  of 
its  pleasure-seekers  would  not  dare  to  be 
eighteen  hours  distant  from  New  York,  as 
they  must  be  at  Bar  Harbor,  until  our 
means  of  getting  about  shall  be  singularly 
improved. 

Then  there  are  not  the  opportunities 
for  display  of  riches  and  for  social  compe- 
tition which  already  exist  at  Newport. 
The  villas  and  cottages  are  scattered  and 
isolated ;  there  is  no  convenient  central 
point  of  general  meeting,  and  the  roads 
are  too  hilly  for  any  but  light  American 
carriages.  Some  victorias  manage  to  trun- 
38 


Harbor 


die  about,  but  the  horses  which  draw  them,  Bar 
or  hold  back  their  weight,  look  tar  from 
comfortable,  and  although  occasional 
coaches  have  made  a  brief  appearance  they 
have  not  been  a  success,  as  on  most  of 
the  thickly  wooded  roads  their  passen- 
gers are  in  danger  of  the  fate  of  Absa- 
lom. There  is  an  Ocean  Drive  which 
is  fine  in  parts,  and  another  road  runs 
above  the  upper  bay,  seeming  in  some 
places  to  overhang  the  water,  and  afford- 
ing a  charming  view  of  the  Gouldsboro' 
hills  on  the  mainland  ;  but  on  the  whole 
there  are  few  roads.  There  is  no  turf  on 
which  to  ride,  and  the  pleasure  of  keeping 
horses,  except  as  a  convenient  means  of 
getting  from  one  place  to  another,  is  lim- 
ited. 

But  there  is  always  the  sea,  and  to  that 
one  comes  back  with  a  love  that  is  ever 
new.  Men  who  know  what  thev  are  talk- 
ing, about  say  that  Frenchman's  Bay  is  apt 
to  be  dangerous  for  small  craft,  on  account 
of  the  sudden  squalls  which  come  over  the 
hills  and  drop  on  the  water  like  the  slap  of 

39 


Bar  a  tiger's  paw,  and  it  would  certainly  be 
hard  to  find  a  place  in  which  there  can  be 
at  the  same  time  such  an  amiable  diversity 
of  winds.  It  is  not  at  all  uncommon  to 
see  two  schooners  within  a  couple  of  miles 
of  each  other,  both  running  close-hauled 
or  both  before  the  wind,  but  on  the  same 
tack  and  in  opposite  directions. 

Another  experience,  familiar  but  always 
trying,  consists  in  starting  with  a  light  but 
steady  southeast  breeze  which  feels  as  if  it 
would  hold  through  the  morning,  but 
which  drops  out  suddenly  and  completely 
within  half  an  hour,  leaving  one  bobbing 
and  broiling  in  a  flat  calm,  until,  without 
warning,  it  begins  to  blow  hard  from  some 
point  of  the  west.  Sometimes  there  is 
a  good  sailing  breeze  at  night  when  the 
moon  is  near  the  full,  and  to  be  on  the 
water  then  is  an  enchantment.  The  glis- 
tening wake  has  here  and  here  a  shining 
point  of  phosphorescence ;  the  familiar 
lines  of  the  islands  are  softened  with  a 
silver  haze ;  and  the  whole  scene  has  a 
certain  poetic  quality  which  the  positive 
40 


hcautv  of  d:ivli(j^hr  cannot  lend  to  i"t.  One  ^^'- 
is  reminded  ot  a  woman  of  the  world 
whom  one  has  known  as  always  sure  of 
herself  and  almost  hard,  until  in  a  moment 
of  weariness,  of  weakness,  or  of  sadness,  of 
fatigue  or  despondency,  the  gentler  nature 
gHmmers  under  the  mask. 

Entirely  apart  from  the  question  of  ex- 
ercise nothing  perhaps  affords  such  lasting 
amusement  at  Bar  Harbor  as  rowing,  for  it 
rarely  blows  so  hard  that  one  cannot  get 
out,  and  one  is  independent  of  calms  and 
master  of  one's  own  time.  All  along  the 
shore  the  granite  rocks  come  down  to  the 
edge  of  the  water,  which  in  many  places 
lies  deep  under  sheer  cliffs.  The  tide 
rises  and  falls  about  a  dozen  feet,  and  one 
may  do  duller  things  on  a  hot  morning 
than  pull  slowly,  very  slowly,  along  in  the 
shade  at  half-tide,  watching  the  starfish 
that  hold  on  to  the  face  of  the  rock  with 
their  red  hands,  and  the  brown  weed  rising 
and  falling  as  the  water  swinges  slowly  back 
and  forth.  If  the  tide  is  not  too  hicrh  one 
may  explore  the  moderately  thrilling  re- 
41 


^^^  cesses  of  the  caves  which  abound  on  some 
of  the  islands,  and  if  the  hour  is  not  too 
late  one  may  have  agreeable  converse  with 
some  old  gentleman  who  has  been  visiting 
his  lobster  pots,  and  who  has  probably 
sailed  every  known  sea  in  his  time.  Of 
late  years  several  of  our  ships  of  war  have 
been  at  Bar  Harbor  every  summer,  and 
more  than  once  a  whole  squadron  ;  and 
the  yachts  of  the  New  York  and  Eastern 
Clubs  put  in  either  separately  or  in  little 
parties.  While  they  are  in  port  the  har- 
bor is  gay  with  bunting  and  laughter  and 
music,  and  as  one  sits  on  the  deck  of  a 
yacht  in  the  evening  the  lights  of  the  vil- 
lage, as  they  go  straggling  up  the  hill  and 
along  the  shore,  have  a  very  foreign  look, 
and  the  cardboard  masses  of  its  wooden 
hotels  loom  up  as  if  they  were  really  sub- 
stantial habitations. 

After  being  a  few  days  at  Bar  Harbor 
one  begins  to  feel  some  curiosity  about  the 
phases  through  which  it  must  have  passed. 
There  are  now  a  number  of  cottages,  most 
of  them  simple,  with  here  and  there  a  few 
42 


Ca-ve 


that  are  more  elaborate,  and  about  a  dozen  Bar 
hotels,  three  or  four  of  which  seem  to  be 
always  full  and  prosperous,  while  some 
others  find  it  at  least  worth  their  while  to 
keep  open  ;  but  there  are  still  others 
which  have  frankly  given  up  the  game, 
and  are  permanently  closed  and  for  sale, 
though  no  one  seems  anxious  to  buy 
them.  Yet  they  must  have  been  needed 
when  they  were  built  in  the  by-gone  days, 
which  were  not  long  ago,  and  after  ex- 
hausting a  friend  or  two  with  questions 
one  learns  that  Bar  Harbor  already  has  a 
past  which  does  not  seem  likely  to  repeat 
itself. 

It  was  discovered  nearly  thirty  years  ago 
by  a  few  artists  and  students  roaming,  like 
Dr.  Syntax,  in  search  of  the  picturesque, 
and  most  of  them,  if  they  survive,  can  be 
moved  to  rage  like  the  heathen,  even  at 
the  present  day,  by  reminding  them  that 
they  could  then  have  bought  land  for  a 
song  by  the  acre  where  it  now  sells  by  the 
foot.  A  few  comfort  themselves  with  the 
reflection  that  they  were  only  rich  in  youth 

45 


s^''  and  strength  in  those  days,  and  had  no 
money  wherewith  to  buy  land  anywhere. 
Year  by  year  the  fame  of  Bar  Harbor 
spread  far  and  wide,  and  as  one  hotel  be- 
came too  crowded  another  sprang  up  be- 
side it,  until  about  twelve  years  ago  the 
place  was  in  the  full  height  of  popularity. 
The  few  private  houses  were  extremely 
simple,  and  nearly  everybody  lived  either 
in  the  hotels  or  in  little  wooden  cottages 
with  no  kitchens.  The  cottagers  had  to 
go  to  one  of  the  hotels  for  their  food,  and 
were  known  as  "  mealers "  if  they  were 
near  enough  to  walk,  and  "  hauled  meal- 
ers "  if  they  had  to  be  collected  with  a 
cart.  The  little  houses  are  very  uncom- 
fortable, and  the  things  to  eat  at  the  hotels 
very  bad.  Biscuits  and  preserves  formed 
an  appreciable  part  of  the  visitor's  luggage, 
and  the  member  of  a  table  who  could  and 
would  make  good  salad-dressing  became  a 
person  of  importance,  for  fresh  lobsters 
and  stringy  chickens  could  be  bought 
cheap,  and  a  judicious  regular  subsidy  to 
the  hotel  cook  was  an  excellent  invest- 
46 


ment.      If  one  was  asked   to  dine  at  a  pri-    ^'"' 

hi  1  1  lljrho 

ouse  It  was   thought   better  taste  iK^t 

to  boast  of  it  beforehand,  nor  to  talk  of  it 
overmuch  afterward,  and  the  host  on  his 
part  always  expected  to  provide  enough 
food  to  satisfy  a  crew  of  famished  sailors. 
For  several  seasons  men  rarely  wore  even- 
ing dress,  and  such  unusual  occasions  re- 
quired previous  consultation  and  discus- 
sion, lest  one  man  should  seem  to  be  more 
formal  or  ostentatious  than  the  rest.  This 
was  among  the  quieter  "  cottage  colony," 
but  at  the  large  hotels,  of  which  Rodick's 
was  the  most  popular,  there  was  little  ques- 
tion of  sumptuary  laws,  and  at  the  occa- 
sional "  hops  "  young  fellows  in  flannels 
and  knickerbockers  were  the  partners  of 
pretty  girls  gay  in  the  fresh  finery  which  a 
woman  seems  able  always  to  carry  in  the 
most  restricted  luggage. 

The  principal  characteristic  of  the  place 
was  an  air  of  youth — it  did  not  seem  as  if 
any  one  could  ever  be  more  than  twenty- 
five  years  old.  Parties  of  half  a  dozen 
girls  were  often  under  the  nominal  care  ot 

49 


Bar  one  chaperon,  generally  chosen  because 
Harbor  ^j^^  ^^^  good  naturcd  and  not  too  strict, 
but  as  a  matter  of  fact  the  young  people 
protected  themselves  and  one  another. 
Large  picnic  parties  frequently  went  off 
for  the  day  in  buckboards,  and  there  is  a 
lonely  sheet  of  water  among  the  hills, 
called  Eagle  Lake,  which  used  to  be  a 
favorite  goal  for  afternoon  expeditions. 
There  were  canoes  and  row-boats  to  be 
had,  and  in  the  evening  supper  was  ob- 
tainable, and  better  than  in  the  Bar  Harbor 
hotels,  at  a  little  tavern  where  the  prohibi- 
tion laws  of  the  State  were  defied.  The 
usual  result  followed,  and  very  bad  things 
to  drink  were  sold  at  very  high  prices,  after 
paying  which  the  party  came  home,  mak- 
ing the  wood-roads  ring  with  laughter  and 
singing. 

That  is  all  changed  now.  The  tavern 
is  burnt  down,  a  great  wooden  box  in  the 
lake  marks  the  sluice  which  takes  the  vil- 
lage water-supply,  people  only  cross  it  on 
the  way  to  Jordan's  Pond,  and  on  moon- 
light  nights    it    hears    but    the    occasional 

5° 


Eagle 
Lake 


^   % 


splash  of  a  fish,  or  now  and  then  the  wild 
laughter  of  the  loon.  Although  parties 
were  popular  enough,  the  pairs  who  hap- 
pened to  have  a  temporary  affinity  were 
generally  in  each  other's  company  all  day 
long,  wandering  over  the  hills,  rowing  or 
paddling  on  the  bay,  or  sitting  on  the 
rocks  and  islands,  each  pair  out  of  ear- 
shot of  the  next.  On  any  one  of  the 
"  Porcupines"  there  were  always  sure  to 
be  two  or  three  row-boats  or  canoes  drawn 
up  on  the  little  beach;  and,  as  many  of 
their  navigators  were  not  used  to  so  high 
a  tide-rise,  the  skiffs  frequently  floated  off, 
and  it  was  part  of  the  boatmen's  regular 
business  to  pick  them  up  and  rescue  the 
helpless  couples  to  whom  they  belonged. 

In  the  evenings  when  there  was  moon- 
light the  sight  on  the  bay  was  really  charm- 
ing. The  meal  called  tea  at  the  hotels 
tempted  no  one  to  linger  over  it,  and  as 
soon  as  it  was  over  the  board-walk  was 
alive  with  boys  and  girls  hurrying  down 
to  the  landing-stages,  the  young  man  in 
light  flannels,  sunburnt  and  strong,  with 
53 


Bar 
Harbo 


Bar 

Harbor 


his  companion's  bright  shawl  flung  over 
one  shoulder,  while  the  maiden  pattered 
along  beside  him,  her  white  frock  drawn 
up  over  a  gay  striped  petticoat,  after  the 
fashion  of  those  days,  and  often  her  own 
special  paddle  in  her  hand,  perhaps  with 
her  initials  carved  carefully  thereon  and 
filled  in  with  sealing-wax,  rubbed  smooth. 
Then  there  was  a  scramble  at  the  floats, 
and  a  few  minutes  later  the  harbor  was 
covered  with  boats  and  canoes,  while  those 
who  were  crowded  out  consoled  themselves 
by  sitting  on  the  rocks  along  the  shore. 
Slowly  each  little  craft  drew  away  from  its 
neighbor  on  the  quiet  water,  the  young 
man  pulling  lazily  or  wielding  the  paddle 
silently  with  sweeping  strokes  of  his  bare 
brown  arm — the  girl  sitting  luxuriously  in 
the  stern-sheets,  or  on  a  deer-skin  in  the 
bottom  of  the  canoe.  The  sun  went  down 
toward  Hull's  Cove  ;  and  as  the  red  glow 
faded  on  the  upper  bay  and  the  moon 
rose  behind  Schoodie,  twilight  merging  into 
moonlight,  the  rippling  note  of  a  girl's 
laughter    or    the    twang  of  a   banjo    rang 

54 


softly  over  the  water,  a  white  speck  showed    Bar 
where  a  boat  was  beached  on  the  shingle  of 
an  island,  while  another  floated  like  a  black 
bar  into  the  silver  wake  of  the  moon. 

Late  in  the  evening  the  boats  came  in, 
one  bv  one,  and  for  those  who  could 
afford  it  there  were  little  supper-parties  at 
Sproul's  restaurant,  while  others  contented 
themselves  with  mild  orgies  of  biscuits, 
jam,  and  the  sticky  but  sustaining  caramel. 
The  famous  "  fish-pond  "  at  Rodick's  was 
a  large  hall  in  which  the  young  people 
used  to  assemble  after  breakfast  and  the 
early  dinner,  and  in  which  the  girls  were 
supposed  to  angle  for  their  escorts.  It 
must  have  been  a  curious  sight.  Some  of 
the  prettiest  girls  in  all  the  country  were 
gathered  together  there,  and  the  soft  vowels 
of  the  South  mingled  with  the  decided  con- 
sonants of  the  Westerner,  x-ls  a  school  of 
manners  the  fish-pond  had  its  drawbacks 
for  young  men.  They  were  always  rather 
in  the  minority,  and  a  good-looking  college 
boy  was  as  much  run  after  as  a  marriage- 
able British  peer,  with  no  ulterior  designs, 

55 


B^>'  however,  on  the  part  of  his  pursuers,  but 
^^"^  "''  only  the  frank  determination  to  "have  a 
good  time."  People  who  belonged  to  the 
elders  even  then,  and  bore  the  mark  of  the 
frump,  still  tell  how  startling  it  was  to  see 
a  youth  sitting  on  the  broad  counter  of  the 
office  and  swinging  his  legs,  with  his  polo 
cap  on  the  back  of  his  head,  while  two  of 
the  prettiest  girls  in  the  world  stood  and 
talked  to  him,  in  smiling  unconsciousness 
of  his  rudeness. 

Of  course  such  conditions  were  only 
possible  in  a  society  which  still  had  tradi- 
tions of  a  time  not  ver^^  remote,  when  boys 
and  girls  had  tramped  to  and  from  the  vil- 
lage meeting-house  and  singing-school  to- 
gether, and  on  the  whole  it  does  not  seem 
that  any  particular  harm  came  of  it  ail. 
A  few  imprudent  early  marriages,  a  large 
number  of  short-lived  betrothals,  kisses 
many,  and  here  and  there  a  heartache 
would  sum  up  the  record  of  a  summer  at 
Bar  Harbor  in  the  old  days.  The  young 
men  got  over  their  heartaches  and  married 
girls  whom  they  would  have  thought  slow 
56 


LanJt 


at  Mount  Desert;  the  beautv  of  the  board  Bjr 
walk  married  a  quiet  man  who  had  not 
been  there,  and  advised  her  mother  not  to 
let  her  younger  sister  go,  and  after  a  while 
the  newspaper  correspondent  beo^an  to  ac- 
cumulate the  stock  of  stories  about  sum- 
mer o;irls  and  eng;aCTement  rino;s,  on  which 
he  has  been  drawing  ever  since. 

The  quiet  people  who  liked  the  climate 
got  tired  of  living  on  fried  fish  and  lemon 
pie,  and  built  themselves  houses  in  chosen 
spots,  with  kitchens,  and  each  of  them  is 
convinced,  and  ready  to  maintain,  that  he 
occupies  the  most  thoroughlv  desirable 
spot  on  the  island.  Fortunatelv,  so  far  as 
that  is  concerned,  the  wanderer  is  not 
called  upon  to  decide  where  owners  dis- 
agree, and  with  happy  impartiality  he  mav 
put  away  his  visit,  with  all  its  associations, 
in  the  sate  cupboard  of  his  pleasant  mem- 
ories. 


59 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

RENEWALS  ONLY— TEL.  NO.  642^405 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which^^ewed. 

Renewed  books  arejtp.J>J€Ctf  to  imcmediate  recall. 


lis 


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WR*  St'fK 


LD  21A-40in-2,'69 
<J6067sl0)476 — A-32 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


»   LJ       £_^   I    v^^ 


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